


Room Service

by oselle



Series: Birthright [34]
Category: The Faculty (1998)
Genre: Alien Resistance, Aliens, Alternate Universe, Angst, Conspiracy, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oselle/pseuds/oselle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zeke and Casey, carrying on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Room Service

Zeke took off his jacket and threw it on the bed. It was a nice room; there was a time when a hotel room like this would have been an unimaginable luxury. It was commonplace now, but he never entered one of these rooms without a moment’s comparison to the hundreds of threadbare motels and flophouses he had stayed in with Casey during their years together.  
  
He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up the sleeves while looking out the window. Far below, the city rolled past. Zeke wasn’t sure when Casey would arrive and he was too far up to make out anyone on the street, but he looked all the same.  
  
Zeke was about to unfasten his shoulder holster when he heard a knock on the door, three light taps.  
  
He went to the door, and gave a glance through the spyhole before opening it.  
  
“Hey,” Casey said. Zeke smiled and let him in.  
  
Zeke hadn’t seen Casey in almost six months, not since they were in Canada together. His hair was longer and seemed a little darker. He looked tired. He had a messenger-style bag over his shoulder and dressed the way he was, in jeans and a dark peacoat and turtleneck, anyone might have mistaken him for a college student.  
  
Casey put the bag down on the bed and opened it. He pulled out a large envelope and tossed it on the bed.  
  
“There you go. Hope it’s what they wanted.”  
  
Zeke sat down on the bed and rifled through the envelope’s contents.  
  
“You’re a genius, man. I don’t know how you do it.”  
  
Casey looked down at him and smiled wryly. “The crazy are crafty, didn’t you know?”  
  
“No trouble?”  
  
“No…well, some, but no big deal.”  
  
Zeke looked at the shadows under Casey’s eyes and thought there might have been more than “some” trouble, but didn’t ask. Casey’s eyes had roamed over Zeke and come to rest on the dried blood on Zeke’s sleeve. Casey was the type to ask.  
  
“That’s not yours, is it?”  
  
“No. The other guy’s.”  
  
“You’re okay, then?”  
  
“Intact, anyway,” Zeke said with a small laugh. “How about you? How are you holding up?”  
  
Casey shrugged. “Headaches, you know. Same shit.”  
  
“Are you sleeping?”  
  
“Who sleeps?” Casey asked.  
  
 _It wasn’t supposed to be like this,_ Zeke suddenly thought. _This wasn’t what we signed up for_. But that wasn’t true. Stokely had told them upfront what their lives would be like if they stayed.  
  
Casey reached for his bag. “I have to go, I have to get to the airport…”  
  
“Wait, no…what time’s your flight?”  
  
“Eight o’clock.”  
  
“It’s only 6:30,” Zeke said. “Look, I’ll take a quick shower and I’ll go to the airport with you. Okay?”  
  
Casey looked doubtful.  
  
“Casey, come on. What the fuck are you going to do at the airport for an hour?”  
  
“All right,” Casey said. “Okay.” He put his bag back on the bed.  


  
_____  
  


Zeke showered. When he came out of the bathroom, he found Casey lying on the bed, fast asleep. For a moment, Zeke was shaken by the floating sensation of déjà vu. In spite of the quietly tasteful surroundings of the hotel room, it could have been any of the motel rooms in any of the years he had spent on the run with Casey. It wasn't of course – and yet this didn't seem any better. Somehow, it almost seemed worse.  
  
It was a quarter to seven, and Zeke knew that he should wake Casey up if they were going to make it to the airport. He didn’t. He got dressed quietly. He put the envelope that Casey had brought into his own bag. By then it was seven o’clock. If they didn’t leave within fifteen minutes, Casey would miss his flight. Zeke sat down and lit a cigarette. He smoked slowly. The ventilation system kicked on with a low hum and a whisper of warm air. Casey slept. A light drizzle began to tap against the window.  


  
____  
  


There are times in Montana when Zeke and Stokely have spent so many hours in Dr. Stanley's quiet, slightly shabby office discussing Casey that Zeke feels like they've become Casey's parents. But Stokely is back in Chicago when Dr. Stanley tells them that the medication and therapy simply aren't working for Casey and that they need to try a more aggressive treatment.  
  
"It's fighting fire with fire," Dr. Stanley tells Zeke. "They rewired Casey's brain – we need to go in and do the same."  
  
"Shock therapy," Zeke says. He glances at Casey, but Casey is idly picking at a loose thread on the arm of his chair.  
  
"ECT," Dr. Stanley corrects.  
  
"Same thing, isn't it?"  
  
"Essentially, yes…but you've got to understand that this won't be anything like what happened in Ohio. That wasn't medical, it was…" His eyes cut to Casey for a moment. "Brutal."  
  
"How will this be any different?" Zeke presses.  
  
"It's targeted. It's done on a completely different level. They were battering him, repeatedly – this will be a therapeutic dosage, starting with four sessions spread out over a month. That may be enough. I'd like Casey to be in the hospital for…"  
  
"Will it hurt him?" Zeke interrupts brusquely, and he means, what will this do to Casey, what will it really do? Will it make him worse? Will it wipe out more of his memory? Will it bring some parts of his brain back to life while killing off others?  
  
Dr. Stanley opens his mouth to answer but Casey speaks first.  
  
"It doesn't hurt," he says. He's still picking at the thread, he hasn't even looked up. "Not really. It's like…falling into ice water. It's quick, though, and there's nothing after that. Not even dreams. It's when you wake up…you know that part of you is gone, that it's been…taken. That's the worst part." He looks up at Zeke. "But it doesn't hurt."  
  
"Do you want to do this?" Zeke asks him, and suddenly it's just him and Casey in the room. A light summer rain taps against the window. Dr. Stanley doesn't exist.  
  
"No. But I have to."  


  
_____  
  


Zeke put out his cigarette and went to sit on the bed behind Casey. He put his hand lightly on Casey’s shoulder.  


  
_____  
  


Zeke never discusses the ECT with Casey – Casey won't let him. Zeke discusses it with Stokely, though and as always, her faith in Dr. Stanley is unwavering. Zeke's is not.  
  
They leave for the university hospital early, it's barely 4:30 in the morning and the sky is just beginning to lighten. It's a time of day that reminds Zeke of being on the road with Casey – early mornings of bailing on one place to find another, empty highways with dawn on the horizon.  
  
The last time they came to this hospital was for Casey's MRI. That was early on when Casey was still so sick they had to sedate him for the whole thing, so Zeke knows he doesn't remember any of it. Casey is sitting close to Zeke but he's looking fixedly out the window, chewing on his lip.  
  
A technician meets Dr. Stanley at the hospital, and it's clear the two men know each other – part of the network that Zeke had never known existed. They take Zeke and Casey up to a room in a quiet part of the hospital. There's a folded hospital gown on the crisp bed. Casey hesitates in the doorway.  
  
"Why do I need a room?" he asks tensely.  
  
"You'll want to get some sleep afterwards," Dr. Stanley answers.  
  
"I can sleep in the car."  
  
"This will really be a lot more comfortable for you, Casey."  
  
Zeke puts a hand on Casey's back. "It's okay, Casey," he reassures, but doesn’t believe it. He knows it's a load of bullshit, this being more "comfortable." Dr. Stanley wants Casey in the hospital in case something goes wrong. He said they could do follow-up sessions at the safehouse, but for this first one…Zeke's mind ticks off a list of worst-case scenarios. Seizures. Breathing difficulty. Coronary arrest.  
  
Dr. Stanley leaves them alone and Casey changes into the gown. The technician comes in and gives Casey a sedative and a muscle relaxant. They'll have to wait about half an hour for the meds to kick in.  
  
Casey sits on the edge of the bed. His feet dangle. His hands are knotted in his lap. He looks frail in the hospital gown.  
  
"Casey? Are you all right?" Zeke asks, and thinks, just say no and we're outta here. _  
_  
"You aren't helping Casey," Dr. Stanley once said to Zeke. "He has to need to get better and that won't happen if he knows you're there to take care of him." They had many arguments over Casey – that was one of the worst. Part of Zeke felt that there was truth in what Dr. Stanley said…but he also knew that Dr. Stanley was a spectator here. He didn't understand. _  
_  
Casey looks up at him. "I'm scared, Zeke."  
  
"You don't have to do this. We can leave right now."  
  
Casey shakes his head. "I have to try. But I'm afraid of what'll be gone this time…what if I lose…what if…" Casey shuts his eyes tightly.  
  
Zeke sits down next to Casey. Casey turns to Zeke and wraps his arms around him.  
  
"If I don't remember this…" he says urgently. "If I don't remember you…"  
  
"Shh," Zeke says. He puts his hand on the back of Casey's head. "I'll remind you, Casey. I'll remind you."  


  
_____  
  


Zeke let his hand circle over Casey’s arm and back, an old familiar gesture of reassurance. It had come back to Zeke so automatically that a minute passed before he even realized he was doing it. Who was reassuring whom, now?  


  
_____  
  


They've told Zeke that he can't hold Casey's hand or touch him at all while they're administering the dosage. Just before they're ready, Zeke bends over Casey and puts his hand on Casey's forehead, above the electrodes. Casey turns his head and blinks at him groggily. _  
_  
Zeke whispers, "It'll be over in a minute."  
  
"I know," Casey says.  
  
"I'll see you when you wake up."  
  
Casey smiles and closes his eyes. "Love you."  
  
"I love you, too," Zeke says. He kisses Casey on the cheek and straightens up.  
  
There's a bad moment when the technician puts a bit in Casey's mouth. It's small – like a football player's mouthguard – but Casey moans and tries to pull it out. The technician takes Casey by the wrist and puts his hand down at his side.  
  
Zeke turns on Dr. Stanley angrily. "You didn't say he'd need that…you said there'd be almost no physical reaction at all…"  
  
"Some patients grind their teeth or bite their tongues during this procedure. It's just a precaution."  
  
Zeke glares at him, but he knows it's too late to back out now. He's not going to take Casey out of here and make him work up his courage for this all over again.  
  
"You'd better know what the fuck you're doing," he says.  
  
It's quick – just a minute – but Zeke feels like it goes on for half an hour, at least. Casey's eyelids flutter. His hands twitch. Zeke can see Casey's jaw tighten and knows he's bearing down on that thing in his mouth.  
  
That doesn't hurt? _Zeke thinks._ How the hell can that not hurt? _  
_  
Then it's over. Zeke goes to Casey and pulls the bit out. He wipes saliva and Vaseline off Casey's cheek.  
  
"Casey? Casey?"  
  
Casey's head rolls towards Zeke but his eyes are half-closed and unfocused. The technician is taking the electrodes off. At Zeke's side, Dr. Stanley asks, "Casey, can you hear me?"  
  
Casey nods faintly.  
  
"You can get some sleep now, okay, Casey?"  
  
Casey nods again and then he's out.  
  
Casey sleeps for almost four hours and wakes up disoriented. Dr. Stanley asks him if he knows where he is, and Casey only knows he's in the hospital, but not where or why. He says his head hurts. Dr. Stanley lets him have two Tylenols and Casey goes to sleep again.  
  
"This initial reaction is very common," Dr. Stanley says. "It's nothing to worry about." Zeke ignores him. He sits on the edge of the bed with Casey's hand between his and keeps ignoring Dr. Stanley until he finally leaves them alone.  


  
_____  
  


Casey stirred and took a deep breath. He rolled over and looked up at Zeke, rubbing his eyes.  
  
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. What time is it?”  
  
“7:30,” Zeke said.  
  
Casey’s eyes widened and he bolted up onto his elbows.  
  
“It’s _what_? Shit, why didn’t you…”  
  
Zeke pressed against Casey’s shoulder. “Forget it.”  
  
“I’m supposed to be on a flight at eight o’clock!”  
  
“Miss it.”  
  
“I can’t…”  
  
“Yes, you can. Miss it. Miss the flight. Stay here tonight. I’ll order room service. We’ll go to the airport tomorrow.”  
  
“But…”  
  
“They don’t own you, Casey. They don’t own _us._ ”  
  
Casey looked up at Zeke. He blinked slowly. Zeke heard rain against the window, stronger now. Casey relaxed under Zeke’s hand.  
  
“All right,” he said. He smiled. “Room service. Sounds pretty good.”  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, it does,” Zeke said. He squeezed Casey’s shoulder.  


  
_____  
  


Casey had three glasses of wine with dinner, brushing Zeke off when he asked Casey about his medication.  
  
"I can skip it for one night," he said, and Zeke didn't pursue it. They watched television during dinner. They talked about Stokely and some of the other people back in Montana.  
  
After dinner, Zeke put the room service table out into the hall. When he came back, Casey was sprawled out on the bedspread, his eyes closed. He had taken off his sweater during dinner, but was still dressed.  
  
“Casey, let me turn the bedspread down. Hey.”  
  
Casey grunted but didn’t budge.  
  
“Fine,” Zeke said. He went to the foot of the bed and slid the bedspread and comforter out from underneath Casey. Casey yawned. Zeke leaned over him and shook his shoulder.  
  
“Don’t sleep in your clothes, Case. Come on.”  
  
Casey turned his face into the pillow. Without opening his eyes, he made a fumbling attempt at unbuttoning his jeans before giving up.  
  
“You do it,” he muttered against the pillow.  
  
Zeke sighed, amused. “You’re still a lightweight, Casey, you know that?” he said, pulling off Casey’s socks. “Couple of drinks and you can’t take off your own pants.” He rolled Casey onto his back and pulled off his jeans. He threw the jeans onto Casey’s bag. When he turned back, Casey was looking up at him, his face sleepy and flushed. He held his hand out and Zeke took it, sitting down beside him.  
  
“I miss you,” Casey said softly, smiling.  
  
"I miss you, too, Casey."  
  
 _I miss you and I wish I knew what I was doing, if anything we're doing matters. I know you think it does. I know you believe._  
  
“I miss you taking care of me.” Casey said, and grimaced. “I shouldn’t say that. I’m sorry.”  
  
“No,” Zeke said, shaking his head. “I miss that, too.”  


  
_____  
  


They leave the hospital a few hours later. When they get back to the safehouse, Casey is having trouble walking, but he elbows Zeke away when he tries to help. Casey's legs finally give out on the stairs and Zeke carries him the rest of the way. No one stares – the people here are used to scenes like this.  
  
Casey has his room, but Zeke puts him down in his own bed. He takes Casey's face in his hands.  
  
"Casey…Casey, look at me." Look at me. How many times has Zeke said this to him?  
  
"You did great, Casey. Dr Stanley said it went really well."  
  
Casey's eyes are dull. "It never stops, does it?" he asks wearily, but Zeke doesn't think Casey is talking to him. "It just never stops."  


  
_____  
  


Zeke looked down at Casey’s hand in his, let his eyes travel up the old scar on his arm. It had faded to white over the years but was still sharply raised on Casey’s pale wrist, like a mountain range on a topography chart. The map of Casey’s life, laid out on his skin. _It never stops.  
_  
"Casey, are you all right?" Zeke asked, and thought, _just say no and we're outta here._  
  
Casey had closed his eyes, but he opened them again and looked up at Zeke. "No," he said.  
  
"We don't have to do this. _You_ don't have to do this. You've given enough."  
  
Casey's fingers tightened around Zeke's. "I need to show you something," he said, and sat up.  
  
Casey went to his bag and knelt beside it, tipping it onto its side. A few pill bottles rolled out and he absently stuffed them back in. He pulled out a small stack of manila folders. Zeke crouched down next to Casey.  
  
"These are just a few of them," Casey said. "These are just the latest." He turned and handed them to Zeke.  
  
Zeke opened the top folder and scanned through it. He did the same with the next. And the next. They were all very much the same. In each, a photo and a page of identifying information. Then pages of medical charts. Details of tests, experiments. At the end, an autopsy report. The children ranged in age from three to eighteen.  
  
Zeke looked up at Casey. "Where did you get these?"  
  
Casey shrugged. "It's a side project of mine. Let's just say I have a personal interest."  
  
"We knew that…we knew they were…" Zeke fumbled for words. It was one thing to understand, intellectually, that these things were happening. It was another to read the reports. To see the pictures.  
  
"But they're _still_ doing it," Casey said. "They haven't scaled back, if anything they've stepped it up, they're…look…" Casey reached into the bottom of his bag and pulled out an envelope of newspaper clippings. One reported a rash of child disappearances in New Mexico. Another told of a mysterious string of deaths among foster children in Florida. There were others.  
  
"It never stops," Casey said.  
  
Zeke put the envelope of clippings on the floor next to the folders. The topmost folder was still open. Christine M. 14 years old. She had died only a month ago. Acute organ failure. _It never stops_.  
  
"I got off lucky," Casey said. "If I'd been a foster kid or a runaway…I probably would have died in that place. Maybe they would have killed me eventually anyway, maybe they would have decided I was a loose end that needed to be cleaned up. But I had you, Zeke." Zeke looked up at Casey. Casey's eyes were grave, but he was almost smiling. "I had you," he repeated. "They don't have anyone."  


  
_____  
  


The first ECT treatments are hard on Casey, but by the third session, they seem to be working. By mid-July, Dr. Stanley says they can stop the treatments; in August, Dr. Stanley is confident enough in Casey's progress to return to Chicago.  
  
It's also in August that Stokely tells them, for the first time, everything she knows about what has happened, what is happening. And while Zeke is still turning all of it over in his head, it's Casey, finally well enough to understand, who speaks first.  
  
"What do we do?" he asks, and Zeke knows that whatever Casey wants to do, wherever Casey wants to go, Zeke will stay beside him.  


  
_____  
  


"We have to do this, Zeke," Casey said softly.  
  
"I know," Zeke answered.  
  
"But sometimes," Casey said, almost whispering, "Sometimes I wish we'd never left Minnesota. And sometimes, I wish we could go back…and stay."  
  
Zeke reached out and put his hand on Casey's face. "Someday, Casey. I promise."  
  
"When we've won," Casey said, and smiled.  
  
"When we've won," Zeke repeated, but the words seemed to hang in the room's silence, and they made him ache.  
  
Casey turned abruptly and swept the folders back into his bag. "I'm tired," he said. "I'm going to bed." He threw his bag back to where it had been and crawled into bed.  
  
Zeke got up from the floor and turned off the light. He lay down and pulled up the covers. The rain was steady on the window but Zeke only heard Casey in his mind. _When we've won_ , he'd said. Would that day come?  
  
Zeke turned to Casey and Casey backed up against him. The bed was firm and downy, not like the broken-down mattresses they had slept on, not like that bed in the trailer with its dip in the middle, but Casey still felt the same. The rain on the window suddenly wasn’t rain, but snow, and there was no city spread out around them but only an empty Midwestern plain and a star-filled winter sky.  
  
“Where are we?” Casey murmured, and although Zeke thought he was talking in his sleep, he answered.  
  
“Minnesota.”  
  
"Minnesota," Casey said. He sighed softly and fell asleep. Zeke stayed awake, curled around Casey, holding onto him for as long as he could.


End file.
